


Due Suppression

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, Evil Mary, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson explains some key points that Holmes managed to miss concerning his marriage and Milverton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Due Suppression

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at a Sherlock Holmes fic, written awhile ago. More notes at the end.
> 
> Since Doyle played fast and loose with timelines, so will I. In this universe (this story and one other eventually I think), Milverton happens just after the hiatus. The whole Culverton Smith thing happened while Watson was married to Mary. (A familiarity with the original tale of Charles Augustus Milverton would probably be helpful, but I don’t think necessary).

I am attempting to shape the events surrounding Holmes’ and my experience with the snake known as Charles Augustus Milverton into a story. In my exposition I have written something about “due suppression” of facts being necessary to shield innocents. Or at least those who I would not want to harm, even if they ARE guilty. While I’m sure my readers will think of the other victims of Milverton, I am also speaking of Holmes and myself.

I am going about this all wrong again, starting in the middle. But I find that I am stumbling over the story and CANNOT write it without referring to the events which… well, events which have been defining my life ever since. I will write it complete, now. And perhaps, having exorcised the full story, I will be able to do something with the parts I can reveal.

It started when Holmes and I returned to find a card for Charles Augustus Milverton waiting for us. I picked it up once Holmes had tossed it to the ground in disgust. I am sure that my face went blank with shock, and, I am slightly ashamed to admit it, a little fear. I immediately assumed he had come to see me.

My expression must have struck Holmes forcibly, because he grabbed hold of my forearm and steered me to my armchair. “What is the matter, my dear fellow? Do you know the man?” His expression darkened. “Have you had dealings with him?”

“No. Not precisely.”

“Good. He is the worst man in London.” He went into a rant about the king of all the blackmailers which I shall not record here. I began to hope that he was not coming to see me, and my heart slowed. Color must have come back into my face because Holmes glanced at me and some tension left him. “Watson, how do you know the man?”

“I do not know him, but—“

Holmes cut me off before I could continue. “Nonsense.”

I rolled my eyes at his impatience and continued over him, “—I know _of_ him. I have never met the man.”

Holmes picked up the card which I had dropped on the floor in turn. “Well, you shall. He is coming here tonight. I have been commissioned by a lady to attempt to reason with him regard his price.” I relaxed further as Holmes explained the sorry situation of Eva Blackwell. “But how do you know of him?”

I grimaced and looked at the fireplace. It was not lit due to the warmth of the summer, and the room seemed a little unfriendly without it. “It is a long story, Holmes. I am certain that parts of it will shock you. Perhaps upset you. And I do not believe we have time before Milverton arrives.”

“Very well.” Holmes subsided, but not before throwing me a sharp glance and furrowing his brow.

I retreated into a medical journal, wondering if I dared stay, and if my presence would help or hinder negotiations. In the end, I remained in my seat.

Milverton arrived, Holmes introduced me as his “friend and partner,” and Milverton seemed privately amused momentarily.

“Yes, dear Mary’s husband,” he smiled with a sort of real fondness at the mention of Mary, which somehow seemed even more unnerving and sinister in contrast to his disdain for Holmes.

 I nodded, rather stiffly, and Holmes commenced the bargaining. He got nowhere, jumped Milverton’s person (with a very small help from me), and Milverton left with a sinister sliding gaze over the two of us.

When he had gone, Holmes, rather than ask me to detail the story further (most likely deducing incorrectly that my knowledge of Milverton came from an attempt or a success a blackmailing my wife) sank into thought with his pipe and then left in a flurry, dressed as a young workman with a beard to begin his campaign to help Lady Eva. I slumped in relief at the short respite and spent the rest of the evening debating how much to tell Holmes, and when.

The next few days he came and went at all hours. I pressed food upon him when he was home and inquired as to his activities, but he laughed and put me off and I let him.

Then one stormy morning he was sitting at the breakfast table when I came down. I could guess he had not slept the night before, as his eyes were somewhat blood shot and he had a little of the stage makeup left along his hairline and the back of his neck. He was eating a hearty meal, so I merely smiled at him and set to buttering my own toast.

“This weather is perfect,” he announced, producing his little huffing laugh.

“How so?” I asked.

Holmes waved off the question with one hand and I leaned back, knowing that I was about to be regaled with an interesting account of his last few days.

“You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?”

“No, indeed,” I replied, perhaps a little too heartily.

“You’ll be interested to hear that I am engaged.”

When I did not tender congratulations but raised my brow waiting for him to go on, he hesitated.

“I am afraid I must ask why you are certain that there is something more to say,” he said, a bit hesitantly.

It was my turn to wave off the question. “Later. I shall tell you my tale when you have completed yours.”

After a moment, the desire to expound upon his genius plan won over. “Well, I am engaged to Milverton’s housemaid.”

I nodded, as this made perfect sense, though I momentarily sorrowed for any emotional distress Holmes’ actions might give her. Hearing that the engagement was being used to make a rival jealous, I let myself rest a little easier on that point, but listened to his plans of burglaring Milverton’s home in mounting anxiety. I tried to persuade him to reconsider, but as always he was set in his course.  We discussed whether it was morally justified (and I admit I was easily persuaded on that score) and my determination to come along.

“You are not coming.”

“Then you are not going.” I gave him a level gaze, attempting to communicate the gravity of my statement. “I give you my word of honor – and I never broke it in my life – that I will take a cab straight to the police station and give you away unless you let me come with you.”

“You cannot help me”

“You cannot know that.”

He still looked stubborn and in my desire to make him understand the severity of the situation, my last doubts about revealing the truth concerning a great number of things dissipated. “Holmes, will you do me the honor of listening to a story?”

He looked a little confused and startled, though an observer less familiar with his visage would merely think he was mildly interested, but complied when I motioned him over to the settee and handed him his pipe. I called for Mrs. Hudson to clear away the breakfast things, and then – to Holmes surprise – I locked the door behind her.  

I poured two large brandies and gave one to Holmes before swiftly downing the other myself.

“My dear fellow…” he began to protest, most likely due to the earliness of the hour.

I waved for him to drink it impatiently, and he did, trusting me, though he looked at me askance and watched me with concern.

“I am going to tell you how I know of Milverton, and why it is dangerous for you in particular to think of breaking into Milverton’s home.”

“My dear Watson, I believe I have deduced at least part of it. He somehow attempted, or succeeded at, blackmailing Mary. I have no need to know the details, and I do not see...”

“Norbury,” I replied rather impatiently. I had only ever used the word a handful of times in regards to his deductions since our adventure there, and he stopped speaking immediately as its power had not diminished. “I have never told a single soul any of this, and the only one who knows any of it, besides Milverton, is dead.”

I paused and ran my hand over my face, looking a little longingly at the brandy on the mantel, but deciding against clouding my mind further. I turned to Holmes and dropped all masks and pretenses. “ _Please,_ promise me not to interrupt. I do not know if I can do this if I must worry about your reactions. I know you will be upset and perhaps even angry at some of it. You may speak when I am done and I will listen then. Please.”

Holmes took in my appearance and nodded slowly. I do not know what he saw on my face to convince him. “I swear.”

I dropped onto the other end of the settee with a sigh and turned to face him. “Do you remember that case when we first started working together, when the lady called you because of her stolen jewelry and it turned out that the crows were stealing shiny things through the open window to hide in their their nests?”

Holmes smiled a little – well, I recognized it as a smile but the corner of his mouth merely twitched slightly – at the memory and nodded.

“You asked her quite solicitously if she remembered the philosopher’s definition of man, and then explained that the culprit was, indeed a biped, but not precisely featherless.”

Holmes mouth twitched again.

“And I realized then that I loved you.”

“But Watson! That was our fourth case together! And Mary—“

I shot him a look reminding him of his promise, though I suppose it was a bit much to ask after that revelation, and he clamped his mouth shut tightly. His eyes were wide, and his usual mask of control was gone completely.

I smiled ruefully. “Yes. Well.” I shifted. “I am perfectly capable of loving you without needing to touch you. I was well aware of the law and consequences for breaking it, and, you understand, would much rather have your deep friendship than risk losing it, whether altogether or to awkwardness.”

I sighed again. “And then came Mary and those pearls. Much of this I learned after your death, when it didn’t really matter anymore…” I swallowed. “Mary and I were friendly enough. She was a pleasant enough acquaintance, but I did not look for anything more. Perhaps you remember that she was a governess? She was, apparently, one of those household employees who you mentioned, who sold information to Milverton. It was always discreet, and could never be traced back to her. She also – somehow – managed to find information on Milverton that would make him vulnerable to blackmail if he ever threatened her in return. And somehow…” I stopped. “Do you remember that you told me about your friend, Victor Trevor?”

He nodded, suddenly unsure.

“Well, apparently after the whole affair with his father, he left to go abroad and attempt to make his own way rather than live somewhere where the news had leaked out. He left behind him some letters, never sent, which detailed fantasies… and, well, memories of certain illegal acts. They were addressed to you.”

The blood drained out of his face. I had never seen him so pale.

“Somehow, when Trevor left the country, Mary got ahold of them. She didn’t turn them over to Milverton, but when her pearls were lost, she blamed you and was very angry with you. She had lost a secure source of income and had no desire to remain a governess. And you know how few opportunities society allows women. Rather than show them to you, she showed them to me – well, showed me copies – respecting your cleverness and knowing you’d somehow find a way to get out of it. She told me that unless I married her after as short a courtship as could be believed, she would expose you. I think she assumed we were… well,” I blushed. “I told her otherwise, but she pointed out that if she published the letters or turned them over to the police, even if you managed to escape prosecution, your reputation would be ruined. She said she would have revenge, if she could not have a steady dependable income, and that the most logical and accessible source of income would be marrying a doctor. She told me that she had given the originals to another, whom she held power over, and that in the case of me telling you or you finding out any other way, they would be immediately given to those who could do the most damage. And so I married her. The short time meant that I could not figure out a plan, and you remember how much she was around and monopolizing my time. I…” I shrugged, and I could tell my voice had taken on a pleading tone as I tried to justify myself. I swallowed and tried to eradicate it. “I could not think what else to do. She could ruin you, which would ruin me as well, for we had been rooming together for so long by that point that it was an obvious inference to draw… not that I cared so much for my own reputation, but—“

Holmes eyes were still wide and his face was still pale. “Watson…”he breathed.

I continued talking over him, determined to finish the story, though I could tell he was remembering the way he had also avoided me and sulked and injected cocaine during that time, making it even harder for me to have the chance to hint or explain. “I was so hoping that you would deduce it… and then when I came to visit you for the first time after the wedding, you said, ‘Marriage suits you,’ and there was nothing I could say to that, really. I came to you as much as I could, and I loved it when you came to me… but there are things a wife can do to make her husband miserable. After each visit, each case, she would have only food I disliked served, destroy favorite books and possessions, though those were only small inconveniences. But Mary…” I swallowed, embarrassed at the power she had had over me, “Mary would hold my arm in the company of others and “accidentally” wrench my injured shoulder in such a way that I could not move it for days after.  A few times she tripped me as I attempted to go down the stairs, refused me meals altogether telling the household I was ill… I started locking my doors after I woke up to her stabbing me in my injured thigh one night. And if I ever ventured a protest, there were always the letters, in the hands of I knew not who, ready to expose you at the first sign of Mary’s trouble, though by then my marriage would have protected me.”

Holmes’ face had not yet recovered its mask of control, and I could see the horror in his countenance and was glad and somewhat surprised that I could not see a trace of disgust at my weakness.

“I wrote myself a happy marriage into my stories, and tried to live the best I could, but I was miserable. And then you died, the only spark left in my life, and life was nearly unbearable. Her threats became less powerful, though I would not want you defamed after your death, either. Before I could do anything, though, to get free, she was diagnosed with consumption. Death frightened her, I think, and the idea of being abandoned to die alone, even more so. She told me she would stop attempting to control me in any way, and as long as I did not leave her, she would not have the letters published. I… well, I am a doctor, and I would not have left her to die alone anyway. I cared for her as I would any patient – professionally but dispassionately. But I… when she was nearing the end, I asked for the name of the man who had the letters, and she told me that he most likely had not read them, but only knew that they were incriminating in some manner against Sherlock Holmes, and that, though it was unwise to attempt to blackmail you, because of your vast intellect and cleverness, that I was slightly easier to manipulate. She said, as you did earlier, that the blackmailer often held scraps of evidence for when their revelation would have the most effect. And then she told me his name was Charles Augustus Milverton. And so I knew I must tell you, for he has this card up his sleeve and if Lady Eva’s letters disappear I know he will consider you just as fitting an example for his other clients.”

I was silent for a few moments trying to think of anything I’d forgotten, before I remembered to nod at Holmes to let him know I was done and he could speak. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times and I braced myself for anger at keeping my situation from him, for awkwardness at my declaration of love, for any number of things. Finally, though, he settled on bewildered. “But… when I came to you… after Adair’s murder… you were still wearing mourning for Mary!”

I snorted. “I was still wearing mourning for _you_. I let society think what it would. Or did you not notice that I left it behind as soon as I knew you were alive?”

“Well, yes, but… But you cannot lie, Watson!”

Again, I laughed, a little bitterly, I will admit, remembering all the times he had deceived me because of what he perceived as my inability to lie. “Apparently I can, if it is your well-being at stake. And hide things from you as well, or are you going to tell me that you deduced my regard?”

“No,” Holmes still looked a little stunned and bewildered and the expression made me ache to catch him up in an embrace even more than usual. I looked away and bit my lip. Apparently these urges were a little harder to hide once I had revealed to him their root cause.

He must have figured out my nervousness, because he leaned forward and caught my left hand between his own. I turned back to look at him. “But why did you never tell me any of this?”

I shrugged. “Perhaps I should have. Perhaps I could have spared myself some years of hardship and grief… But I… I thought the risk was too great. I could not see how to tell you without Mary discovering it. And I knew you would not want me to continue as I was to shield you. And then, when you came back… it didn’t seem to matter anymore.”

“Didn’t matter…” Holmes licked his lips and steeled himself. “Are you saying that your feelings toward me changed or are of a different nature now?”

I shook my head and smiled ruefully again. “If anything, they have only gotten stronger.”

There was a strong tug on my hand and suddenly I found myself with Sherlock Holmes on my lap, one hand still holding mine and the other at the back of my neck, fingers tugging at the hair at my collar, as Holmes kissed me deeply and passionately. My mouth had opened when I was startled, and his tongue was deep in my mouth. I sat frozen for about two seconds, before I gave in, softened with a short moan of relief, and started kissing him back.

Holmes kissed with single-minded focus, as he did anything else he cared about. It was a few long moments before we pulled apart to breathe. Holmes’ hand slid around my neck so he was cupping my jaw and arranged himself a little more comfortably astride me. His eyes were glittering as if he was about to close a case.

“Holmes?” My voice sounded more uncertain than I actually felt. I think. I had never seen him like this before, never truly seen him without a mask longer than a very few seconds.

“I knew I felt _something_ for you, but having never known a very deep friendship or love for another, I mistook it. I realized when I heard you crying out my name at the falls… And I remembered you were married and had experience of ‘three continents of woman’ and I ran away.” His hands slid down my shoulders until he was grasping my upper arms.

I laughed a little. “Three continents of women, yes. But – if you count India as a separate sub-continent from Asia – five continents of men.”

Something passed over his face and I didn’t dare identify it. He rolled off me to sit beside me on the settee, and grasped my hand again. I attempted to surreptitiously straighten my injured leg which had born his weight, though I thought the ache well worth it.

“So you are determined to come with me tonight? We merely must be sure to take more than Lady Eva’s documents.”

I nodded and squeezed his hand.

“Well, well my dear fellow, be it so. We have shared the same room for some years, and it would be amusing if we ended by sharing the same cell”

I grimaced. “Amusing is not quite the word, my dear fellow. I suffered a great deal of trouble to keep you out of one.”

He looked a little sad and raised my hand to kiss the back. “You are quite correct. Perhaps I shall make it up to you eventually.”

“I have you now—“ I suddenly stopped, unsure if I could or should presume.

“You do indeed.” Holmes’ mask came sliding back over his face and he leaned back on the settee next to me, intertwining our fingers.

“Then there is no need, my dear Holmes.”

**Author's Note:**

> This grew out of the random thought that I’d seen evil Holmeses (both brothers) and Watsons, but no real evil Mary Morstan. I’ve seen her unfaithful or impatient and non-understanding of Sherlock, and even “dark” but not really evil (found a few since I wrote this). I wondered why that was. I supposed that if Watson was to stay in character and “basically good” (which is my favorite interpretation of Watson), and to stay the competent Watson I know and love to read, he couldn’t marry and evil Mary because he is too good of a judge of character. She would have to force him to marry her somehow… and I can’t picture a man with “experience of three continents” (which is another thing I wonder – that he can say that but still not be a cad…) being “seduced” and trapped that way. So. A “how they got together” fic with an explanation for an evil Mary.


End file.
